


I’ve Got You Under My Skin

by joufancyhuh



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Courier rules Vegas option, F/M, Power Play, Sexual Tension, and then he disappears the rest of the game, benny shut the fuck up challenge, enemies to a little less than enemies/a little less than friends but definitely fucking, i hate it too, i think this is what the kids call a fix-it fic, life threatening but not really, look i am sorry for how benny talks i am just keeping him in character, prosthetics used as a weapon, small amount of blood if that bothers you, that special moment after you sleep with benny then save him from the legion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 14:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30090204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joufancyhuh/pseuds/joufancyhuh
Summary: High above the Strip, a long-overdue reunion takes place. If only the Courier could trust the reasons for Benny’s sudden arrival. The gun pointed in her direction doesn’t help.
Relationships: Benny (Fallout)/Female Courier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	I’ve Got You Under My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> I learned a lot of new words I was better off not knowing for Benny's dialogue.

“Benny, babe. Long time no see.” 

Only shadows moved in the cocktail lounge of the Lucky 38, set against the neon hue that spilled in from the Strip. The sharp steel of a gun glinted in the hand of the silhouette reclining in Pepper’s favorite chair, a rainbow of light dancing off the compact barrel. It trailed after her movements down the stairs, the only sound in the room the sharp click of her heels on the lacquered floor. A tumbler in the other hand caught a stray beam of light, ice cubes clinking together as Benny raised the drink -- her drink -- to his lips and took a long sip. 

Then the Manhattan she had set out for her every night fell back to sit atop the armrest, his fingers curling around the glass. Lips drew into a wide smile as she neared. The darkness hid the sharpest edges to it, but she held an idea or three for the purpose behind the surprise visit. 

“Your trigger men ain’t but a bunch of crumbs, baby, the lot of ‘em.”

“I hope you didn’t shoot any of them.” Pepper shimmered like a desert mirage in her satin gold evening gown, every part the picture of a Vegas Queen. When she took the closest seat that happened to angle in his direction, the slit in her skirts widened for more than a flash of her legs. Her dark skin dyed in vivid purple and blue brilliance as she settled in, compliments of the closest casino sign.

The full-length windows of the lounge provided the best and highest view of New Vegas, looking out on territory she now controlled -- the throne room, her friends called it. As such, they left her to quiet nights where she kept the lights off while enjoying her favorite drink, watching the world move below her post. “I told Yes Man to have them stand down,” she said. “You’re hardly a threat.”

How long did Benny covet the very chair he now sat in, she mused. How many nights like this did he stare up at the casino, lusting for power? And now here she sat, the last remaining obstacle in his path. 

His eyes narrowed, flicked down to his gun then back to her. “Well ain’t you a wet blanket.” 

“Oh?” Without his realization, her hand shot across the considerable distance and plucked her drink from his grasp. The gun jerked but didn’t fire, she noticed. With her drink now raised in cheers, a victorious smile stole across her face before washing away with a swig. Best drink in the Wasteland, and mighty easy to make, even on scant resources -- not that she hurt for them now. “Was I supposed to feign surprise at your arrival?”

The scowl on Benny’s face replaced itself with a sly smile, carrying a glint more menacing than the gun in his hand. “Cons ain’t really your swing, pussycat.” 

“ _ My swing _ ,” she mimicked with a slight laugh. One leg crossed over the other, the cut of her silk gold dress hiking higher on her thigh, where his gaze immediately fell, already undressing her from memory. The position brought her prosthetic foot higher where the sharp, bladed edge of her heel well-hidden under the long fabric, ready to snap off for an attack. She wore the dress specifically for the unassuming weapon, and if she filled his mind with other thoughts, he might forget the danger he goaded. “And what exactly is  _ my swing _ ,  _ babe _ ?” 

“Ain’t that.” His head nodded towards the window and the Strip below. “Aint this, either.” 

“Ah, so you’ve returned for what’s yours.” Her foot shifted higher, her hand slowly sliding toward it. It’d show him when she sprang her attack; she could perform with the best of them. 

“Something like that.” His dark eyes raked over her, pausing again on the border of her slit, then traveling down to her foot, still shapeless beneath her skirts. Perhaps he remembered when she threw it at him in their last encounter and cataloged it as the possible threat it posed.

“You’re aware of my capabilities.”

When his gaze snapped back to hers, caution and curiosity intermingled into a glint she recognized all too well. In a rare moment of pretense dropping, he replied somberly with, “I’m aware.” 

“Then how about a deal?” 

The corners of his lips twitched, threatening to lift into a smirk. “Ain’t like you to beg, doll.” 

Her teeth sunk into the corner of her bottom lip as the rest drew back into an irresistible grin. “No, Benny, that routine belongs solely to you. I’m talking about a deal, a nice one, an easy one, where we both get what we want.” Heat licked up her chest as she recalled how exactly he begged and how formidable it made her feel. And how she had chased that excitement all the way into the Lucky 38, building a reputation that made those around her either stare in awe or cower with fear. 

“And what do I want?” 

“This.” The hand with the drink swept slow across the skyline, aware that too sudden a movement this time might result in an itchy trigger finger. 

His tongue parted his lips before retreating into his mouth as he considered the offer. “Ring-a-ding-ding, baby. You’d scram out, no heaters?” 

“I did let you go.” She held up two fingers, his gaze latching on even the smallest motion. “Twice, if I recall correctly.” 

“I figured on account of that pump of yours going dizzy with thoughts about the Ben-man.” 

Most of Benny’s vernacular gave her a headache, but this particular phrasing made her grit her teeth as she attempted to decipher it. No one else in all of New Vegas talked like this, though the Chairmen attempted poor imitation. Where he picked it up, only the desert dust and possibly Swank knew -- that one refused to spill. Her thoughts hung up on the word  _ pump  _ and what that could mean. Something dirty, more than likely, the cad. Choosing it best to ignore the statement entirely, she said in a low voice, “You haven’t asked me what it is that I want.” 

He didn’t give her the satisfaction of humoring her, though he did somehow manage to dial back his jargon. Shame he couldn’t figure that out sooner. “Afraid that ain’t gonna matter one way or another, Pussycat.” 

Before Benny could raise his gun higher, the radio kicked on at the bar, a sign of Yes Man’s security measures. Peggy Lee cut through their conversation, blasting and crooning for her Johnny Guitar, causing enough of a distraction for Pepper to snap off her foot and thrust herself toward him. Her drink wound up forgotten on the floor -- her heel jammed against his throat, the knee of her wounded leg jamming down his hand with the gun in it. 

“That was pure platinum, baby! Aces!” His free hand skimmed up the back of one leg with a wicked grin, but when she shoved her makeshift weapon forward, a line of blood beading along the blade’s edge, he backed off, a show of his hand falling defeatedly to his lap. Her other hand wove into that crisp, shiny forest of dark hair atop his head, holding it steady should she decide to finish him off. 

“Benny, Benny, Benny,” she tsked, shaking her head as she kept her gaze locked on his. “You make it all so much harder for yourself. I wanted to give you Vegas, hand it all over and fade back into the Mojave. There is a beauty in simplicity, not that you would understand.” 

“What can I say, doll? I’m keen on the particulars.”

Her eyes rolled the same time her grip tightened in his hair. “So I recall, along with your penchant for destroying those who stand in your way. Which is quite a shame, because I happen to enjoy being alive.” Her heel drew down to rest beneath the apple of his throat. 

“You are one red hot tomato with that blade, baby, but this cat ain’t here to bop.”

This time she didn’t stifle her groan. “ _ To bop _ ? The fuck, Benny?”

His eyes twinkled with mild humor. “You know, pussycat -- To bop. To bump? To croak? To knock off?”

Another groan sounded, this one coming from him as she leaned her weight onto the knee that held down his wrist. “To  _ kill _ . For fuck’s sake, just say to kill. Otherwise, I’m going to make sure your death is a slow and painful one.” To reiterate her point, the blade’s edge skimmed along his neck, drawing leisurely from one side to the other, then back again. 

“Slow ain’t really the speed I had in mind, baby,” he purred, then tossed her cheeky wink, to which she could only roll her eyes. The tent in his pants said it wasn’t merely flirting. Leave it to Benny to get hard with a knife to his throat. 

“Then what did you have in mind?” Her fingers flexed in his hair before tightening. The radio switched over to Ain’t That A Kick In The Head as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. When only the song lingered between them, she prodded with, “Why are you here, Benny? The truth.”

“Don’t blow your wig.” He smirked, then raised that docile hand she hadn’t managed to restrain in her initial attack, his cool fingers landing on the back of her bare knee. “It ain’t for this apple, savvy?” The soft caress of his hand dragged as high as the slit allowed him. 

Heat crept up her chest and into her face, her heart thumping out a beat to rival even the most energetic song. Forced laughter burst from her chest. “You must think I’m a damned fool,” she growled, the blade biting into the curve of his neck as she gave it a small nudge. 

“Me and you had a date.”

Her head shook in disbelief at the absurdity. “Benny … that was almost a year ago. We had a great night, I didn’t kill you, and then you took off.” 

She had meant to kill him at the time; she remembered that much. But when Benny, his smoldering gaze replaced with those big puppy eyes, asked her to hold him after, something inside her gave way. 

The following months were spent gathering pieces of the life he left behind. Chicken-shit, the Omertas called him.  _ Heard you chased that chicken-shit Benny off. Good riddance.  _ And that sentiment followed everywhere she went, except the Tops, where Swank spent nights entertaining her like a performer with grandiose stories involving their absent leader. 

And then she found Benny on his knees in Caesar’s tent, and once more chose not to kill him. And off he ran again with his tail tucked between his legs. She gave up months ago on thinking he’d return, and now he dared to sit in her seat and mock whatever sparked between them. 

Maybe it started that night in Goodsprings, or perhaps bloomed inside the Tops, but it caught flame like paper to a fire, and consumed just as quickly. She refused to let it make a pile of ashes out of her.

“Pussycat--”

“Pepper,” she interjected, a hard edge entering her voice as her patience for this game waned. “My name is Pepper. Not pussycat, not baby, and especially not doll. It’s Pepper.” 

“Pepper,” he repeated, savoring each syllable of her name while it rolled off his tongue as if the first time it left his mouth. For all she knew, that was true -- she certainly had never told him her name before. 

With a heavy sigh, she let her makeshift weapon fall away from his neck and released her grip on his hair. The gel retained the paths left by her fingers and without hesitation, he quickly drew out a silver comb from his jacket pocket to smooth it back into place. “Maybe I have a soft spot for you, though mercy knows why I would after everything you’ve put me through.” His shoulders rolled as his hand raised off her skin, leaving it chilled in the absence. Gingerly, his fingers smoothed over the cuts on his neck while his gaze fixed to hers. “I don’t want to kill you. But I’m not stupid either. I let you go, and you take me out as soon as I turn my back.”

“And burn my favorite dish? I ain’t never been off that track.”

Just when she moved to ease up on the weight applied to his wrist, his wording urged her to reconsider. “And yet, you brought a gun. Talk is cheap, Benny, and yours certainly is bargain rate.”

“Says the batsy bird with the chiv,” he replied, not bothering to disguise his mirth. 

A huff accompanied the exaggerated roll of her eyes. “I was prepared to defend myself.” 

“You and me both.”

Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth. “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” Carefully balancing her foot with the shoe still attached on the armrest, she moved her hands to the flaps of his checkered coat, running them down the length of it before slipping her hands inside to feel for any hidden weapons. 

His wicked grin stretched wide as he said, “Let me,” and began to snap open the buttons on his crisp dress shirt after first returning his comb. The song moved onto Stars on the Midnight Range as her pulse thrummed harder the lower his fingers traveled. The stale air of the cocktail lounge thickened as she watched. She should stop him and this unnecessary show. If he did have anything on him, a thorough search of his pants would follow. One such weapon housed there came to mind, and the lump forming in her throat bobbed as she considered it, despite earlier protesting to the contrary. Her tongue, acting of its own accord, darted out between her parted lips to wet the corners. 

Like a rubber band snapping back to form, so did her attention to his face and the want he wore so openly, even in the unsteady light, shocked her. . Her hands, splayed out on the hard muscle -- well,  _ that  _ was new-- roamed across his bare chest until curving around his shoulders, sliding clothes off as far as their position allowed. His skin wore the marks of the Mojave, more scarred than in their last encounter -- constellations telling tales of their time apart. Her fingers skimmed a particularly large patch of soft pink located along his side, a shiver rippling along his skin like the wind through an afternoon field. 

“Drop the gun,” she ordered.

When a thud sounded behind her, she placed her other knee on the opposite side of his lap, shifting her weight to allow him full access to his hand. It flew up, only for him to roll his wrist, wincing when his fingers flexed. “Thanks, Peps.” His other hand, blood staining the tips of his fingers, reached out. Knuckles brushed the edge of her jaw with such an unexpected softness that a sharp intake of breath greeted the motion. 

Like a rope fraying under great strain, so did her resolve. Her mouth moved to intervene. “Why did you wait so long to return?” 

His head dropped forward, lips connecting to the collarbone left exposed by the deep cut of her neckline. A hand pressed into the small of her back as the one on her face moved to cup her cheek. Of course he chose to avoid the question. Her body sank deeper into him, pressing against his chest as he left scorching, open-mouthed kisses blazing across goosepimpled flesh. 

Her hand wound through his damned crusty, shiny, gelled hair once more, jerking his head back so that lips collided like soldiers meeting on a battlefield. A low moan grew from his throat as she tugged at his hair hard to keep his mouth from wandering off. Just a slight indulgence, she reassured herself. She maintained control.

Hands met her curves, smoothing up as they moved in synchronization to cup her breasts. The dress gave much away, and she forewent the lingerie, regretting it now as he thumbed across her increasingly hard nipples. The thin material provided little barrier from his groping, fingers pinching and rolling and kneading while her chest radiated with heat. Her teeth sought to sink into something solid, the closest object Benny’s bottom lip, which made him grin, damn him. 

So she was not actually in control after all. Keeping her grip tight, she moved her mouth away with some reluctance. What about him drove reason away? No one else ever elicited such a response. With a sigh, she knocked his hands away and reached for her foot to hook it back to her leg. 

“What gives, baby?” Despite the obvious frustration in the low growl of his voice, his hands remained suspended in the air, daring no further in her direction. 

“So what was the plan, Benny? Bed now, shoot later?” With her foot reattached, she slid off his lap and dipped down to grab his discarded gun. 

“I already told ya, Peps. I ain’t about to shoot my number-one bird … again.”

Her lips pinched into a tight line. “I stole your plans. Anyone else would pull the trigger without hesitation.”

“This cat’s got all-new dreams, doll. And you dazzle in the best of 'em.”

“Look at you, getting all sentimental.” A snort punctuated the end of her sentence. “Too bad this newfound sentimentality isn’t helping to answer me about why now.” Her arms crossed over her chest as one eyebrow lifted. 

His gaze shifted off her and onto the floor as he paused to rub the back of his neck. “Ah, about that ... some shylock dirtbag got it into his noggin that I owe him a buncha caps. Ain’t nothing left in Reno anyway, so I thought I’d check in on my special lady.”

“How sweet,” she deadpanned. If he sought her sympathies, he’d find that well dry. Benny always saved the best graves for himself. “So you’re here to rob me. Or is this where I have to save your ass again?”

“It ain’t like that, pussycat.” He rose to his feet and cautiously stepped toward her. When she didn’t retreat, he closed the short gap and placed his hands on her arms, rubbing up and down as she refused to look at him. “Me and you, we’re platinum.18-karat.”

Her brow furrowed as she shook her head, turning her attention back to his face. “Sooner or later, Benny, you’re going to piss off the wrong person.” But a small quirk in the corner of her mouth hinted at the irony, her amusement over how close she came to becoming that person.

The twinkle in his eyes said he shared those thoughts. “Ain’t had a regret yet.”

“You should. You should absolutely have regrets.” In one smooth motion, she uncrossed her arms and snapped back the chamber of his gun, emptying its contents into the palm of her hand. Then, she slipped the cold metal into the inner pocket of his now-rumpled jacket. “I’d keep the gun, but I know how attached you are to the damn thing.”

“Maria’s --”

Another snort cut off his sentence. “I forgot you named it. Of course you named it. You name everything.” The ammo dropped from her palm as she turned it upside down, scattering the shells around them. Then her forefingers hooked into the waistband of his trousers, pulling him forward until his hips aligned flush with hers. 

“I can think of some --”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” she laughed. “Benny, you are one of the smartest people I know, but then you go and open your mouth.” She placed a chaste kiss on the dimple in his cheek. “It ruins your allure.” 

When he opened his mouth for a retort, clearly not taking the hint, her mouth captured his in a soft and hungry kiss. His hands slid around to the small of her back, locking her in close as Let’s Ride Into The Sunset Together took its place on the airwaves. And maybe Benny had planned for this scenario after all, but Pepper found that she didn’t care, not if it meant having him there. And if he tried to kill her again, well, she knew where the knives were hidden. 

**Author's Note:**

> Will there be more of them? Who knows. They make me suffer. They tried SO HARD to bang and I almost let them. Almost. I did not sign up to ship this.


End file.
